Tintin and the Bookworm
by DisneyPrincess55
Summary: When something of value goes missing, it's up to Nollie to find it...but what if it's been stolen by one of her new friends? Follow Tintin & Nollie's blog: Google search #tintinnollie and click on the second link! Rate & Review! xx
1. Chapter 1

**Hiii! I'm so sorry this one is sorta long-overdue but I've been SUPER busy! Thankfully, Portland got a huge snowstorm and we're up to 2.7 inches and school is cancelled for tomorrow, so I was able to get some work done and FINISH A CHAPTER! See you at the bottom xo ~DisneyPrincess55**

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One

September

"Snowy, wait! Come back, I'm not finished—I still need to rinse you off!" I shouted as Snowy leapt from the metal bucket full of soapy water and raced down the hall. He never enjoyed me bathing him—in fact, I had never seen him tolerate a bath. But whenever Tintin left on some errand or he was away at work and the dog was dirty I was forced to. Now that Snowy was getting older Tintin brought him to work less and less, and neither of them liked it at all.

"Hey, boy, getting into trouble again?" I stepped out of the kitchen to see Tintin at the door, Snowy in his arms. I went to him and wrapped the dog in a towel before carrying him back into the kitchen. "I don't even get a hello?" He called, still standing at the door.

"I should've known better than to wash you when _he_ was getting home," I told the dog, putting him back in the water. Tintin walked into the kitchen just then, but I didn't turn to greet him.

"I see how it is. No hello to the person who saved your life five or six times—" He approached the island where I was bathing Snowy, reached his hand into the metal bucket and threw the water on me. I shrieked in surprise and without even thinking about it, splashed him back. Snowy yapped and, seeing this as a great opportunity to get out of finishing his bath, leaped from the island onto the kitchen floor. While he was running from the kitchen, leaving a trail of wet paw prints, Tintin grabbed a cup and filled it in the bucket.

"No no no—" I shrieked, trying to run from him. He chased me around the island a few times before pinning me against the cupboard and wrapping his arms around my waist. I sighed and looped my arms around his neck, smiling. "Hi," I breathed, and he leaned in to kiss me.

That night, I laid supper on the table. Tintin was bent over a book on the table, chuckling. "Oh no," I murmured, moving to take the book from him, "Another Jeeves?"

"Yeah, and it's great." I took it from him and read the cover.

"_Jeeves and the Feudal_…darling, it would seem you've read this one before."

"That's because I own it."

"So it would seem." I put the book on the bookcase in the living room before returning to the kitchen. I set the food out and he watched me, looking as though he was in deep thought.

"Have you ever found this place to be too small?"

"What? Oh. Well, on occasion…the kitchen is a bit on the small side, and those neighbors upstairs…"

"So you agree."

"Agree on what?"

"That we should move."

"When did moving ever…"

"Well, what if we want to have a family some day? There isn't much space here for two people, let alone children."

"Wait—are you proposing?"

"What? No—"

"Well, when someone tells their girlfriend about the future possibility of children…"

"Oh, well, I—uh…No, sweetheart, I'm just saying that maybe we should get an actual house."

Not hearing his last sentence, I continued with mine. "What if I don't want to marry you? I mean, what if I want to see different people? There are plenty of other boys—"

Tintin, on the other hand, was still continuing with his sentence: "This place is getting too small, and eventually, we won't have any more room, so I think it's best that we—" he caught on to my words at this, and I caught on to his."Wait, what?"

"What?"

"You don't want to marry me?"

"No—I mean yes—I mean, were you even asking?"

"No, I was just _saying_ that we should get a bigger place."

"Well then why did you have to bring the whole marriage thing into it?"

"Because eventually we'll want to get married, and we'll want to live in a house, yes?"

"But what if I don't want to be married to you?" He stared at me, the slight smile that had come with his previous statement flickering away.

"You don't want to marry me?" His voice was merely a whisper, and he looked hurt.

"I wasn't saying _that_—"

"Yes, you were…"

"You weren't even asking! I didn't say I didn't want to marry you, I do, it's just…I'm _seventeen_!"

"I know. I know you're seventeen. I know—I just thought—"

"You just thought we could move into a bigger place."

"Yeah, that's what I was saying before but you brought marriage into it—" He began to laugh, bending his head into his hands and laughing. "What?"

"I love you," he laughed, looking up at me, "I love you so much."

"Oh, do you?" I sat down next to him and he wrapped his arm around my waist.

"I do," he whispered in my ear. His breath moved my hair, tickling my cheek, and I giggled.

"And I love you," I murmured, kissing him.

The following day, I found myself fishing through tall shelves of dusty old books, as well as somewhat new books until I found the Sherlock Holmes section at the library. I plucked one off of the shelf and opened to a random page. "You know my methods, Watson." I recited quietly, smiling to myself and closing the book.

"Precisely, Sherlock," a voice from behind me murmured. I turned to come face-to-face with a fair-skinned, dark-brown-haired girl about my age. I stared at her in awe, fascinated that she knew Sherlock Holmes too. She smiled, light blue eyes gazing at me in awe from behind her bangs, and stuck out her hand. "I'm Isabelle."

"Nollie," I breathed, shaking her hand. "Never before have I met—"

"Another Holmes fan?"

"Another _female_ Holmes fan!" I grinned wider, "This is incredible. Absolutely incredible, I can't believe it!"

"I'm the first one you've met? Well, then I suppose you haven't run into any of my friends—we're _all_ Holmes fans. We're going for tea tonight at my flat…going to discuss _His Last Bow_…care to join us?"

"I don't think I have anything happening tonight," I said, thinking: the one thing I had planned was making supper and talking to Tintin. "I would love to come."

"Perfect! You'll have a good time, I promise. Oh—my address. Here," she pulled a notepad and a tiny pencil from her pocket and scribbled something down. "Here. 144 Sunny Stream."

"That's not far from where _I_ live!"

"Oh, really? That's quite hilarious, really. How is it we've never met before?"

"I dunno, I think _that's _what's hilarious." We giggled and talked for a little while longer. "I—I should be getting back," I said, giving her a small smile, "The time…it's nearly three."

"What's at three?"

"I…just gotta get home, 'tis all," I shrugged, "My boyfriend will be home soon."

"Ooh, your _boyfriend_?" She raised her eyebrows, "You will have to tell us more about him later."

"I will," I murmured, "See you later, Isabelle!"

"You'll never guess who I met today!" I was dangling off of the railing on the staircase when Tintin walked in the door.

"I can't guess, who did you meet?" He pulled off his coat and hung it up before walking over to the sofa and sitting down.

"Another Holmes fan!" He looked at me like it was nothing, like meeting another Sherlock Holmes fan was like meeting another person with blue eyes. "Another Holmes fan who is a girl _and_ my age!" He looked more pleased at this.

"Really?"

"Yes! And she has other friends who like Sherlock, too, and I'm going over to her flat tonight!"

"Tonight?"

"Yes, tonight!"

"But I had…dinner reservations—" He stood before he said _dinner reservations_ and made for the kitchen.

"What?" _Did he say dinner reservations?_ He never did something like that…

"It's nothing, I just thought maybe you would like a night off from cooking supper. But I guess…I guess if you wish to go to your friend's place, that's fine—"

"How long were you planning to keep the reservations from me?"

He looked as though he was trying to find the words to say: "I was going to tell you five minutes ago…but you know, it's great that you found another friend. I'll take you to her flat in a little while." He pulled out the kettle and began to make the afternoon tea—something _I _always did and he only did when he was stressed.

"If you're going to make a big deal over it, I can cancel—"

"No." He put the kettle down firmly, shaking his head, "No, no, you can go to your friend's place. It's no good for you to be stuck up in here alone all the time. As for dinner, it doesn't matter." But something was up—I could tell by the way he was acting.

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**Nollie meeting Isabelle is like Once Upon a Time fans meeting other OUAT fans, or like me meeting other R5 fans. And I had a love affair over blue eyes in this chapter. They came up a lot. Haha. And you'll find out why Tintin's acting so funny in chapter two :)**

**Tintin and Nollie have a blog! Google search #tintinnollie and the first link is the blog :) I'm at 9 followers now! Eee! Remember to review for Chapter 2! ~DP55**


	2. Chapter 2

**Hi! Here's chapter two :) Portland's up to ~7+ inches of snow, and it's SUPPOSED to melt by tonight...hahaha. ~DP55**

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Two

His Last Bow

He was never like this—he never made dinner reservations without informing me of it—he never made dinner reservations in general. Something was clearly up. He set the tea kettle down and went to the sofa, running his hands through his red hair and leaning back, closing his hands over his face. "Are you okay?" I murmured, from where I stood in the kitchen doorway. He removed his hands from his face and looked at me.

"Why would you ask that?"

"You just seem a little…off."

"How so?"

"Well, for one, you made dinner reservations," I crossed over and sat down next to him, "And two, you didn't bother to tell me about them until the evening of."

"Is that all?"

"Three, you didn't even _care_ that I met Isabelle—"

"My parents died ten years ago today." I stared at him, gaping.

"_Ten?_" My voice was merely a whisper. He looked at me and nodded.

"Yeah. Ten."

"Well, aren't you going to visit them?"

"They're back in Belgium."

"_Belgium_?" This was the first I'd heard of Belgium, after five years of knowing him.

"Uh…yeah, that's where I'm from."

"How have I not heard of this?"

"Because I lived there for a rather short time…I was nine when I left, nearly ten years ago."

"Why did you leave?"

"Well, it's a rather long story, actually…"

"And you're in luck, I'm fresh out of books." I wanted to hear this story more than I wanted to go to Isabelle's house. How was it that I'd known him for five years and yet I had no idea he was from Belgium?

"I uh—I was born in Belgium. My parents…I never saw much of my father but he…he had hair, dark hair and gray eyes. He was always gone on business or something, so it was just my mother and I. She had hair the color of fire and blue eyes like yours. She was the kindest should I'd ever known, very quiet and timid…the thing is, though…I don't remember either of their names."

"What happened to them?" I took his hand in mine and squeezed it.

"It was my father's birthday celebration a few days after his actual birthday. All of their friends and I were at this restaurant, mother had left me there with her friends while she went to get father from work. On their way to the restaurant, their taxi—their taxi was hit on the left side. I read the reports the other day in the library…my mother was on that side and she…she died first, then my father. But the…the taxi driver, he got out with a few broken bones. But I uh—I remember this man running into the restaurant and saying, 'they're dead. They're _dead_.' All of my parent's friends stared at me as if to say, 'what're we to do with that one?' It's funny…I was eight years old and none of them offered to take me in. Not one of them cared enough about their dead friends to take in their son." He looked at me, tears glimmering in his gray eyes, before glancing at the clock. "What time were you supposed to be at Isabelle's?"

"I…don't know." I shrugged, "But what happened after that?" He stood, ignoring me, and went up the stairs.

"Any day but today," he muttered.

"Tintin," I followed him, "I'm right here for you."

"I said any day but today," he turned to say this before searching for words. "I just don't want to talk about it right now."

"Six," I murmured.

"What?"

"That's what time I should be over at Isabelle's." Fighting him wasn't wise—especially on a day like today. I went back to the kitchen and glanced at the little table calendar—September ninth. Come to think of it, I'd never seen a picture of Tintin's parents, let alone ever heard of them. I knew they had died, but I never knew how, or when…or _where_. I was slightly annoyed that he'd never cared to mention his country of origin…he must've dropped the accent awhile ago.

After an eerily silent drive to Isabelle's house, I was welcomed into Isabelle's house by her mother, who directed me to the parlor that put ours to shame. "Nollie!" Isabelle shouted, standing up and looping her arm through mine, "Everyone, this is Nollie. Nollie, this is Ruth, Audrey and Grace."

"Hi," I waved a tiny, embarrassing wave at them. Grace smiled at me, while Ruth looked up for a moment from her book to nod at me.

"Another one," she murmured, looking back at her book.

"Now, Ruth," Audrey said almost immediately. Audrey had a thin face and a bob that fell just below her ears. She reached over and tucked a strand of her dark brown hair behind her ear, revealing a tiny pearl earring. "Nollie enjoys Sherlock as much as we do, and we are delighted in her company."

"Right," Ruth muttered, turning a page in her book, "Another misfit."

"We're _not_ misfits," Grace snapped, before turning to me, "We're not. There are five of us now, we're not misfits." Isabelle looked from her friends to me, unsure of what to do.

"Uh…okay. Well, Nollie, why don't you sit down…I'll go get some tea." She was gone in an instant, hurrying off to the kitchen. I sat down on a wingback chair that felt brand-new.

"Why, Nollie, you don't have a book," Audrey's eyes clouded.

"No…no, I don't, actually." How was I supposed to tell them I knew every line of _His Last Bow_? "I uh…have it memorized."

"_Really_?" Ruth looked at me as though I was much more interesting than I had been five minutes ago. "How did you manage that? I'm hardly past chapter nine, school is just so—"

"I…I don't go to school," I shrugged.

"A _dropout_? A dropout that _reads_?" Grace's eyes were wide.

"Well, no—it's…it's a long story."

"We've got time," said Isabelle, setting down a tea tray on the table and sitting down next to me. "Plenty of time." I felt my cheeks get warm as everyone stared at me, waiting. Well, it was now or never if I wanted to make friends… I took a deep breath and told them the story of little orphan Nollie who had to live with her aunt Martha for several years before she was saved by the sweetest, most amazing person in the world—_Tintin_.

"He bought you bread, and that's how you met?" Grace smiled, "That's so sweet."

"In a…strange sort of way," I shrugged.

Tintin picked me up at eight and drove me home—the ride was, again, eerily silent. "Hi, Snowy," I smiled, scratching the dog behind the ears upon entering the door, "How are you?" Snowy wagged his tail and licked my hand before walking away.

"Did you have a good time?" Tintin asked as I headed towards the stairs.

"Yeah," I turned to look at him, smiling, "It was nice. We were there to discuss His Last Bow…but we never got around to it. Besides, they're all currently reading it…they were shocked I'd read it already, and memorized it…they're so busy with school—" I cut off, biting my lip, and walked up the stairs.

"You wish you could've finished school," he spoke slowly, "Don't you?"

"Of course," I stopped, turning towards him again, "Just like I wish our parents were still alive." He nearly flew up the stairs to reach me.

"You realize, if our parents hadn't died, we never would've met." He moved closer to me.

"We may have," I whispered, "But we'll never know."

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**So Tintin's family story...I don't know if he even has parents, living or dead, I've never seen it mentioned...? So I wrote it as that. And they do have names, I just wasn't sure if they actually had names so for now they're nameless. If anyone knows the true story, that'd be amazing to know. And the Belgium thing was just to clear up the fact that he IS Belgian, I just wasn't sure when I began to write the first story because Jamie Bell is English. I'm not the smartest teenager out there. **

**Audrey is based (loosely) on Audrey Hepburn.**

**Please review for Chapter Three! xx ~DP55**


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